


And the devil makes three

by Shlav squat (Strudelmugel)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Character Death, Diary/Journal, Edwardian Period, Falling In Love, Historical, I'm Sorry, Immigration & Emigration, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Letters, Mental Health Issues, Multi, POV First Person, Period Typical Attitudes, RMS Titanic, Secret Relationship, Survivor Guilt, What Was I Thinking?, every time someone references james cameron's shitty film in the comments, i will kill off another character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-09-11 01:23:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8947609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strudelmugel/pseuds/Shlav%20squat
Summary: Those who had followed Katsuki Yuuri's skating career knew his personal life had been plagued by tragedy, the exact details of which had remained a mystery until the very end. Now, in a never before seen anthology, his first ever great misfortune and the lives of those who had been beside him have finally been revealed, and it is now clear why he refused to speak of the night that took the world from him.





	1. Foreword

**Author's Note:**

> Why am I doing this to myself? Oh, right, because Yuri on Ice is beautiful, the characters and ships are beautiful and I want to think about them all the time now series one is over and this gives me something to do until series two. I just want to write these characters and drown myself in everything got to do with this anime. I have a lot of feelings right now.  
> Unsurprisingly, this is a spontaneous fic and au idea. Today I just started thinking about that little factoid of the Mayflower curling rink being used as a morgue for the Titanic’s dead and my lifelong interest in the ship came flooding back again. Half an hour later I had a historical au. I miss researching historical matters for a fic, even if it’s making me impatient.  
> I’m actually really looking forward to this. Not only is it new characters and canon material to work around and from, but I’ve chosen not to use prose for this one. Don’t know why, but I just wanted a change and regretted not taking the opportunity to use this style for a previous historical fic. I’m not used to first person, and since I’ve not written all but two of these characters it’ll be a challenge, but fun too.  
> So yes, I have a lot to do, and haven’t quite finished the synopsis, but I’ll try to update this when I can. Warning for a lot of character death. I am sorry for that though. Look, they’re all alive in canon so just roll with me here.  
> And you all thought episode eleven had angst. I’ll show you angst.

_ Foreword by Kenjirou Minami, published 1986 _

 

...

 

If one has had the pleasure of observing Katsuki Yuuri’s career, it is plain to tell that incredible talent was paid for in grave misfortune and tremendous loss, much of which has remained a secret, even now. We know of the various points in which the man experienced incredible tragedy, more so than one person ought to handle, but what he actually saw, felt, lived through, the man never said.

Of course, later tragedies all but defined the end of his career and life. We are more familiar with those than his earlier years.

As a boy, I greatly admired whom I considered to be Japan’s greatest figure skater and one of the bests of his era. And as a boy and young man, I collected every magazine, every postcard, every scrap of paper with his face on it, down to boxes of cigarettes I needed to hide from my parents. I idolized him. I longed to compete on the same ice as him, meet him in person and become his friend. I imitated him for years, wondering how I could copy such beauty. Not only did he have unrivalled stamina that allowed him to perform late jumps no other skater would dream of, but his bewitching personification of unfixable, unyielding heartbreak was something I could never quite imitate correctly.

I now see why.

It was Yuuri who convinced me that I needed to develop my own style. Not find. Develop. I was far too full of joy to skate a pretend heartbreak, he said. Everything I did was with a joyous bubble I could never let burst, and it needed to show in my skating. It was the greatest day of my life!

I had the great pleasure of becoming acquainted with Katsuki Yuuri some years ago as a competitor, but it wasn’t until great misery fell upon the both of us that I could truly become his friend. 

I was interned at Topaz during the war, in the same block as Katsuki and his family. We helped each other get through the day, looked out for each other and made sure we were not suffering through the unpredictable weathers that would randomly ravage the camp and its inhabitants. Myself and his wife and step-daughters kept the atmosphere optimistic. Things were how they were and seemed hopeless, but they had to end at some point, right? The war could not last forever. When we were released, I stayed close to him, partly because I was family after everything we had been through, and partly because I feared the outside world and what I would come back to. Were we still feared? Would we need to fear? I needed Yuuri.

Many people associate his tragic death- only seven years later- with his experiences in the camp, his family included. He blamed himself for a lot, including his family’s imprisonment, despite how none of what happened was his fault.

But though the camps spelt the end for Yuuri and his mind, they were in no way the beginning.

It is with the permission of Katsuki Yuuko and her daughters that I was entrusted with his diary from the year 1912, when he survived the first of his great tragedies. How he survived the sinking of the RMS Titanic was something that had fascinated historians and his fans over the years, but it was not something he ever spoke of. Yuuko and her daughters have given their accounts, but Katsuki remained mute. It was a subject even I dared not approach with him.

It is also with the permission of Katsuki Yuuko and her daughters that I was able to translate Yuuri’s written- and only- account of that night, ready to tell the world. But his diary- as priceless as it is- was not enough for me. I needed the whole picture.

Tracking down every person he knew from that time, that had been mentioned in his diary, alive or dead, was miles more difficult than any jump I had ever attempted, but I was never one to shy away from the new or challenging. Every diary, letter, document and photograph compiled here and translated with the help of so many people is the result of thirty years hard work and I am more than satisfied with the result. I hope this not only brings justice and peace of mind to the Katsuki family, but also those who helped me and provided the vital sources of information now housed in this book.

Even so, I was reluctant to publish this straight away. I sat on my great project for years, unsure if it was good enough, respectful enough, if Yuuri himself would’ve approved. With the recent discovery of the wreck of the Titanic, the story surrounding the ship has been revived in a wave of sensation and fascination not seen since the fifties, which is- as far as I’m concerned- what truly finished Katsuki off.

I wanted to tell the story of this remarkable man, but I did not want people to think I was trying to get rich and famous off his tragedy. Even though I had already planned to give the money to Yuuri’s family and various charities, it still felt wrong. Axel, Lutz and Loop Nishigori eventually convinced me otherwise, and in the time it took for them to do so, I was able to add yet more accounts and research to this anthology and refine what I already had. I think it is now time to show it to the world.

And so, it is with great enthusiasm and heartache that I present to you the story of the affair and disaster of Katsuki Yuuri and Viktor Nikiforov.


	2. Yuuri: Cherbourg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, thanks for your feedback so far; it had been incredibly positive and I’m sorry for the delay in providing you with the first ‘proper’ chapter in this.

 

Ever been so excited you bought a diary?

I am not interesting, I know. But this is a chapter of my life that requires documenting, thankfully in a language those around me cannot read for an extra veil of privacy; after all, what I plan to write is extra secret. Who knows where I could end up if anyone knew. Alone? Dead? And the book is so nice, I could not resist buying it, even though money is a little tight now. I actually need to save up everything I have; it was my stupid idea, after all.

Where do I start? An introduction, I suppose. My name is Katsuki Yuuri, I am twenty four years old and a professional figure skater hailing from Hatsetsu, Japan. I lived in Paris, plan to one day compete in the Olympics and, as of last month, it seems I will be living in America from now on.

I cannot be quite sure how this happened.

But lately I have been unsure if I have been living a reality or have been stuck in some beautiful dream.

I have time to tell it now, right? My ship has been delayed and I have nothing to do before boarding. Well, I have been reunited with my childhood friends but we have caught up and they are busy keeping control of their three daughters before one ends up flying overboard. They grew up so fast! But I suppose you leave babies for five years they will grow into loud, funny little girls. I have truly missed them.

The Nishigoris have been planning their immigration for years, taking the long route in order to visit me after years of nothing but letters. Little did they know I would be coming with them.

Right, the beginning.

I have trained and competed from Paris for the past five years. Who else is now based in Paris? My absolute idol Viktor Nikiforov. 

Words cannot do that man justice. He is a God in human form. The way he moves across the ice, I did not know a mortal could move that way. He is part of a troupe, a trio of skaters that travel the world, all are talented but Viktor shines beyond his companions in my eyes. I have imitated him for so long, and the reason I left Japan to begin with was in the hopes of one day meeting him. He had travelled to my home country before, and my mother saved up to buy me tickets, but I felt I had a better chance of meeting him here. Besides, I wanted to see the world.

He has spent a number of years travelling throughout Europe, mostly France, and felt it was time for a change of scenery. I did not want to pry.

We happened to train in the same rink, though I was too intimidated to ever skate around him, and not only him but his companions: Georgi Popovich and Christophe Giacometti. They are all so talented and I am mediocre at the best of times. To skate in their presence would only mean errors, slip ups. They would laugh at me, I was certain.

It was by accident that Viktor found me training. It seemed he wanted to fit in a late night practice too and… I do not know why, but he seemed to like what I had. That being said, had I known he was watching I would have become completely stiff and failed every jump and spin. He insisted we train together after that, privately if I was worried about my confidence. He wanted to train me? Teach me what he knew?

It was a dream come true, not only was I able to spend time with Viktor, but I got to know the real him. The hidden strengths, the flaws, how incredibly lonely he was. He had Christophe and Georgi, and almost-family in Russia, but no one he truly knew, he told me. I felt like I got to truly know him those months we were together.

He was certainly very open with his affections, more so than I would have dared been. It was dangerous, and he must have known there was a risk I would hate him, tell someone. There was nothing the law could do, but it- someone could kill him. And if not, he could never skate again. He would risk all that for me? I simply could never understand. How could anyone love me enough to jeapordise their career and life?

Of course, there would be no way I would turn him down. The situation scared me, of course, but I would put everything on the line to be with the man I loved. I had loved him since I was a boy. It had scared me, how wrong it was, and how no one could know, but I loved him regardless.

We trained together when we could, met in secret, for nearly a year. I could come and go from his home as I pleased, a mere colleague and acquaintance. No one could suspect a thing. Had he known of his plans to leave all this time? In a sense, I feel betrayed, but then again I cannot be that important a part in his life. Surely? 

I do not remember much of the night he announced he would be leaving for America. I think I might have been angry. I quickly became drunken, in my grief, that he was leaving. Viktor had breathed new life into everything I did, became my second home, and now he was going away forever?

That was all I can remember until the next morning. I awoke in his empty bed to a note, Viktor telling me-

No, I still have it. I can glue the letter on the next page. 

 

...

 

_ My dearest, most beloved Yuuri, _

_ It fills my heart with so much joy that you have agreed to accompany me. Had I known you would declare such an act to keep us together, I would have informed you of my departure sooner. As it were, I feared never seeing you again. _

_ This had been something myself and my dear friends had been planning for a long time, and I could not let them down just to be with you; it would have been selfish of me, no matter how I needed to keep you in my life. But now we can start a new life together. I hope you will take the opportunity to use this as a chance to further your career, and I look forward to your Olympic debut. I know this is selfish to ask, in light of how you have decided to uproot your entire life here for me, but you will accompany us in our travels across the country? I would love to perform with you. _

_ Tonight, as wonderful as it was, was the last night I will be able to meet with you properly, as I am afraid we are so busy, and I fear you will now have little in the way of spare time. Emigrating is tricky business, especially when you give yourself a month to plan. My ship is called the RMS Titanic, and she leaves on the tenth day of April; I would recommend booking your ticket as soon as possible. Maybe we will get adjoining cabins? _

_ I am very much looking forward to spending time with you, even on the crossing. I hear it is the height of luxury, and the menu certainly looks sublime. Whatever happens, I shall insist that you visit my cabin every night; the postcards and photographs tell me we will have a wonderful amount of privacy, even amongst so many people. _

_ Here is to an incredible future together, my one true love. _

_ Vitya _

 

...

 

Silly Viktor. I do not make nearly the money you do from skating, and the little I have has to be saved for this new life I apparently planned. Steerage tickets were all I could get. And steerage will do for a week, dare I say the conditions will be an improvement on what I already had.

Even if I wanted to tell Viktor he could not hold me to words I did not even remember saying, there was never an opportunity to. And how could I cancel? This could very well be the best thing to happen to me. Who knows? I want this. I want to travel with Viktor and skate with him until he is bored with me. He will get bored eventually, right?

Phichit thinks I am an idiot, and yet he is accompanying me. I could never tell him why I truly wanted to go, but it is not so hard to believe I wanted more opportunities; after all, that was partially why he was coming. It was why he too decided to uproot in the space of a month and join me on this adventure: opportunity. He wants to entertain and skate and show the world how much he loves skating, and what he can do on the ice. I think he will have a lot of fun in America.

Phichit also travelled a long way to follow his dreams, all the way from Siam, in fact. He also claims he wants to look after me there, that I might need a friendly face in a strange, new country. After all, we were both terrified when we arrived here all alone. I cannot say I'm not relieved.

It also means our coach will not have to choose between us. 

He was less thrilled at my- our- plan to move, having left America only a few years previously with plans to see Europe again. But Celestino eventually warmed up to the idea and will be joining us at a later date, my ballet instructor Minako with him. They will actually be planning their journey properly. Minako says the spontaneity is surprising, but a change might be what I need.

Phichit gave me an earful on the train from Paris, after we were seen off by Celestino and Minako, just so he was certain I knew this was a rash decision. Yes, Phichit, I am aware. If only I could tell you the truth...

It was on the train that I was reunited with Yuuko and Takeshi, and their children. It was fantastic to see them again and hear of my family. They are doing well without me, it seems, though they all miss me. I will return, one day. I miss them so much and I wish I could provide them with everything they need. Maybe one day they could live in a big house with me; they could even bring their business with them.

I have so many worries in regards to the future. Not only at the thought of being cramped into a boat, but of not knowing what waits for me on the other side, when I will see Viktor again, and what we will face in the future, but with my friends here, I think I will manage.

We are now aboard the SS Traffic, about to board the ship herself. Here I am, hiding amongst mine and Phichit’s worldly possessions on what should be the happiest day of my life, but I am tired and determined to finish this entry. I know there will be so much processing and a long search for our cabin before I will have another chance to rest, and it is likely I will fall straight asleep. I can see the Titanic, just barely, through the legs of other passengers, her lights twinkling in the gloom.

Phichit is calling me. I must go now.

 

...

 

_ Minami’s notes: _

_ Yuuri Katsuki boarded the Titanic at approximately 08:10pm on Wednesday 10 April, accompanied by longtime friend Phichit Chulanont and the Nishigori family from the SS Traffic. Viktor Nikiforov, on the other hand, boarded from the SS Nomadic, accompanied by Christophe Giacometti and Georgi Popovich. Unknown to Katsuki, it was possible he was travelling next to the closest people Viktor had ever had to family. _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some creative liberties that I took in regards to the demographics of the passengers. There were no Russians in first class and only one Japanese passenger on the ship, in second class. I also could find no accounts of Korean, Kazakh or Thai passengers, but the rest are as accurate as possible in terms of demographics, so I ask please don’t google them because you will be met with spoilers.
> 
> This story synopsis just seems to be getting sadder and sadder the more I research and plan, so sorry in advance.
> 
> SS Nomadic is the only white star line ship to survive to the present day. I actually saw it on a trip to Belfast last year, though wasn’t allowed on board because some selfish prick was having their Goddamn wedding on it. Though to be fair, I was actually pretty chuffed to hear you could have your wedding there. I’d love to get married on the SS Nomadic.


	3. Viktor: Celtic Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hope you are enjoying the story so far. I’m looking forward to writing more of this, but at the same time, I don’t want to hurt such lovely characters. I feel like I am being unnecessarily cruel to them. I’m being serious here; I feel like a monster.
> 
> So, Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to everyone; even if you are not celebrating anything, I hope you have a nice few days regardless.

 

Oh my beloved, darling diary, why must I hurt so?

I searched for my Yuuri all evening, but he is nowhere to be found. He is not in the pool, the gymnasium, the library or any of the restaurants. Which is a shame, as the food is delicious. As I was walking Makkachin on deck, I saw many people out for a nightly stroll, but none of them were Yuuri. It is like he is not on the ship at all, and that makes my heart weep. Could he not make it? Has he abandoned me? I know I asked so much of him, and we have not properly spoken since he- drunkenly- agreed to this, but surely if he was not coming he would have told me? Chris told me he has not seen Yuuri either, and poor Georgi is a little wrapped up in his own problems, as usual. Anya left him a year ago. I have known widows who recovered faster.

A change will be good for him though, and being away from her and that new man he has seen her with. I hope he can find someone new on our travels, as he has lost a great deal of motivation and is hard to work with now. Chris too, though he has yet to tell me why. I, on the other hand, have lost my inspiration. Paris has offered me all it had, and even with Yuuri I do not know what I want from my career. The fact that we were unable to perform together in public might have contributed, and I plan to change that in America. We shall dance together one day. A new country and Yuuri is what it will take to claw back my inspiration, I can be certain of it. I have asked him to join our troupe, but have yet to hear a positive response. Maybe the trio is growing stale together and we will need to go our separate ways to better ourselves. This is something we will need to discuss in the near future.

Whilst we have been graced with such an incredible opportunity, it only seemed fair to offer our good fortune to those who got me as far as I have, namely Yakov, who ran the orphanage myself and Georgi grew up in. We agreed a change of scenery and nice apartment would be a good way to spend his final years- at seventy there cannot be many left. The idea was to also bring any orphans left in his care with him to start a new life, but alas there are only two remaining, who are almost old enough to fend for themselves. Yakov explained he is too old to look after young children anymore and stopped taking them in. I assume they are sent to live with someone younger and better able to care for them. In any case, it is nice for him to have somewhere to retire to, after all he has done for us. Yes, he was very strict and shouty- still is- but he raised me to be the man that I am. This will be nice for him. The children too- Mila and Yuri- I have not seen them since they were tiny and my have they grown. I hope they are excited to be moving, though little Yuri did not seem too happy. I can only guess why.

I did not know how much I missed them until now. I hope to visit them all more often in future now we will be in the same country.

They are now in third class- I am not made of money, after all- and I had a great deal of trouble purchasing tickets for them. For some reason, White Star Line distrusts us Eastern Europeans. We are trouble, apparently. I cannot think of what I could have done to offend them.

Oh where is my Yuuri?

Yakov says I am getting too thin. I need to eat more and surely I could afford it. If not what am I doing with my money? I told him I need to keep the weight of a figure skater but he says I take it too far. And that is not all that displeased him. I have not written in years and just suddenly surprise him with a proposal to move halfway across the world. I did not need to travel first class and am being too much of a boast. Georgi did not get such treatment, but then again, Georgi is not the reason he lost so much hair. I was never apt at following orders, even as a child.

I can only trust they boarded smoothly and are settling down in their cabin. I will visit them tomorrow when I get the chance. We only had last night in Paris to catch up and I daresay it was not enough.

I also hope to find my Yuuri tomorrow. That is, if he has boarded.

Oh diary, he is the most incredible person I have had the good fortune to meet. He skates like he is made of the music, and his body is the very orchestra and song capturing the attention of anyone who dares gaze upon him. He is so nervous, and lacks a great deal of confidence, but there is a fire hidden within, a fire I have only seen the smoke of. I need to know more about him. I need to know everything about him. I feel if I can help him, then he will reach his full potential as a skater. There is so much potential that is rotting away and I know he can make it big if he believed in himself.

Yuuri is as fun as he is beautiful. As passionate. As kind. Why does he not see what I see? And dare I say, in the privacy of my diary, that his thighs are the very definition of temptation and sin.

I love him. I am deeply, unapologetically in love with him. Is there hope for us? I like to think so. The world be damned, we will be together because I know it was meant to be.

I distract myself from my worry writing this, though unsurprisingly it is not working. I am in the reading and writing room with Georgi and Chris; it is late and few people are about. Georgi is reading poetry, and Chris seems determined to finish his letter so it can be posted tomorrow from Queenstown, seeing as he will not have another opportunity to do so until New York. I tried to ask him whom it was to, but he refused to say. One glance has told me he is not even writing in French, which I can only take to mean he did not want myself or Georgi reading its contents. I shall not pry further, which is a shame because he just kissed the envelope so it is either someone very special or a fan. Is he crying? This is fascinating, if a little uncomfortable.

He seems to have sensed I am writing about him. He looks aggravated. I must go now.

 

...

 

_ Minami’s notes: _

 

_ Christophe’s letter was never discovered, nor was it revealed who he was writing to. _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chris is writing to that mystery man, but given it’s not certain what their relationship is, I didn’t want to imply anything too romantic. I hope we do find out more about mystery guy because I ship them, aha.


	4. Leo: Celtic Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For once my update was slower, not because I was being slow, but because the chapter is long and detailed and I had to stop every five seconds to google something. Plus LeoJi makes my chest contract so tightly because. Damn. That ship. I love them so much they’re so beautiful, but it’s hard to write when I have to stop and clutch my heart all the time. They’re probably the couple I feel most guilty about, in regards to this fic. How could I do this to such pure babies?

Ever done something so stupidly, laughably, preposterously reckless in the name of love? Something that could get you both in more trouble than would appear worth it? Something that could either ruin both your lives or be the best thing you have ever done? I have, and it appears to be working. We have gotten away with it for now, and though I would love to say this is the end of our troubles, I will not be happy until the two of us are safe where no one can hurt us.

This is a story I will need to start from the beginning, is it not? I do not know why I am even telling it, leaving hard evidence to the multiple crimes I have committed in the name of this manic, reckless love, but I suppose it will be nice to be able to reflect on this when I am old and grey and forgetting things. When we are old, that is. Maybe one day, in the far future, someone will find this diary and see our love was not wrong, that the rest of humanity is wrong instead. I do not know what the world will be like in a hundred years when I am dead and gone; maybe it is utopia. I can dream, can I not?

My name is Leopoldo de la Iglesia. I am nineteen years old and for the past five years I have travelled Europe and Asia as a wandering musician. My family owns a farm along the west coast of the United States, and as a young man I decided to travel the world before settling down as a labourer. I had it all planned out, and would not be taking my parents’ money but work when I needed money or food, and play the rest of the time. They did not seem to believe me when I said I could do it, but I left anyway. I hope they have had enough time to let all their anger out and forgive me for leaving with only a note as an explanation. They would have tried stopping me. And it was a very sweet note. I told them I loved them and would soon be back.

And I was right. Everything has gone smoothly- save for a few near-death experiences- and I met so many wonderful people, not least Guang Hong Ji. As I write this, he sleeps in the bunker next to me, so beautiful, so peaceful. I cannot let him be unhappy ever again. If whoever reads this could only see what I see, the serene breathing and those rosy cheeks. His smile as his worries melt away in his dreams. The freckles and fluffy hair, that face no longer innocent but oh so kind and captivating. The feelings resting in my heart are too much at times, and if a wrote a thousand words I could only capture a fraction of them. We are a mere metre apart, and I long to simply reach my hand over and caress his face, though I must resist.

Besides, I have a story to tell.

After I ran away from home, I spent a year or so working in the boiler room of various cruise liners like this one, and merchants vessels, before finally ending up in Hong Kong, between jobs with nothing but the clothes on my back, my last paycheck and my guitar. It was a busy place, filled with merchants from all over the world, and I had never seen so many people in one place, but I had had enough of the sea and so instead of looking for work on another boat, I set out north. I did not care what I saw, as long as it was not coal or fire. Spending my life in the hull of a ship was not what I had set out for.

The plan was to travel through China, then enter Europe through Russia or the Ottoman empire. That was what I decided from looking at a map, but I had little knowledge of the countries and decided to ask which was safer to travel through at a later date.

I did not know much about China either, it seemed. The country seemed dripping in civil unrest, but I found sanctuary in a little farm northeast, somewhere in the centre of the country, after half a year or so travelling, working, and trying my best not to get killed. And along the way I played, to anyone who would listen and those who wouldn’t. Music is a gift to be given freely, but coins and food tossed my way were much appreciated.

I might have been a little lost, come to think of it.

But Mr Ji took me in, a foreign stranger, and gave me food and shelter in exchange for work on his farm. Seemed like a good deal. He explained his eldest son was something of a… gentle soul. Dreamer, even. Well, his words were disappointment, or useless- he spoke an odd dialect of a language I barely understand, forgive me- and I came into his house fully expecting to find myself sharing a roof with a slovenly, imprudent child. What I found was a very sweet- if effeminate- boy smiling over a bowl of rice. He was the oldest of his siblings by far, the rest crowded round him, an ever-moving mess of clothes and hair. 

When I first met Guang Hong, and talked to him over that first meal, I had hoped to become something of a brother figure to him, if I was to stay very long. It was strange, but he evoked this protective urge in me I had never felt before. And over the next few weeks I grew more and more upset over Mr Ji’s words. 

Guang Hong was not a strong boy. Well, in terms of physical strength. Out in the fields, I would stay close to him, do as much of his work as I could get away with whenever his father was looking elsewhere. The boy was passionate and driven, but not about farming, much like myself at his age. I eventually found out he wanted to go to America, become a film actor and be famous. That was why I fascinated him, I suppose, and in turn, he fascinated me. Guang Hong has the most beautiful of voices, and would make up lyrics to accompany my humming and guitar playing. He also wanted to know all about America, my life there, and demanded I take him with me when it was time for me to go. I saw no problem with that. 

What amused me was how keen I had been to leave America for China. I tried to explain to him that when it was time to go back, it would unfortunately be to settle down as a farmer, but for some reason that didn’t deter him. He said farming was not so bad with me around. And it was still closer to the film studios he longed to work at.

He was my new best friend, and I wanted to help make his dream come true. I would get Guang Hong to New York no matter the cost and he would become an actor. Or a producer or director. He said he did not mind which.

But for now, I was happy on the farm. I mean, I could sing as I worked, learn about a new country, and spend all day with Guang Hong. We even shared a room. You know, like supposed brothers. I was not going anywhere, but he said he was happy waiting. He did not seem all that pleased though, come to think of it.

Mr Ji let me stay in return for food and shelter. After a year or so, I began to steal from him. Nothing he would miss, of course, just his eldest son’s heart and a few kisses, lying on our stomachs in a rice field, completely hidden from sight.

It was the most exhilarating of times, and the most terrifying. How could it not be? Not only was there the constant threat of discovery, but I have more or less guaranteed myself a place in hell, after trying so hard to be a good, devout Catholic. But no, I am wrong and sick and Guang Hong is worth it, I am certain.

He did not understand fully where I was coming from in my worries, only that he was worried about breaking the law. I did not know what the punishment for sodomy was- even though we were only after kisses, I feared that was what we would be accused of- and I did not want to find out, but Guang Hong maked me want to take the risk. He made clear that we were to leave before he would be expected to marry and continue his family name.

Not that I actually had the courage to say a word to him at first. I kept my feelings a deep, twisted secret to torture myself with at night, and I suspect he did the same. I think at one point I attempted to drown myself in the fields, but that was more of a humiliating failure than I had planned. If there’s one thing worse than hating yourself for who you are, it is doing so cold and covered in mud, struggling for breath before just giving up in the whole affair. At the time I had to wonder if this would be my life now, or if I would have to run away, knowing whatever I did, Guang Hong would hate me for it.

Alcohol is an incredible thing. When I left Hong Kong, I took a small pot of baijiu with me that I had bought for an extra special occasion. A year on the farm seemed like something to celebrate. Guang Hong was the only person who seemed keen on celebrating with me, so we slipped out during dinner to take a walk, making some excuse I cannot remember before making our way through the ricefields. There was a pond hidden amongst towering reeds that Guang Hong loved to swim in, and I was the only person he ever brought there, the only one to know this secret. It was some walk and I was glad to cool off in the water and have a drink. Guang Hong was happy to join me in both.

The alcohol hit the pair of us like an automobile. At one point I forgot how to swim and just sank to the bottom of the pond. Guang Hong is certain that was just a trick to get him to pull me onto the riverbank and fuss over me. Jiji, please, I could not remember my own name that night.

But it was there, under the reeds, that he kissed me, shamelessly. Well, we had half the bottle each, and it may have been a mutual, reckless decision. Oh why could I not remember the details?

The important fact was that he felt for me as I did him. For a few months we continued on as the most secret of lovers, stealing kisses when there was no one else about, trying to spend all the time in each other’s company that we could without arousing suspicion. It was not that hard; as long as we were not stupidly affectionate we could get away with spending time in each other’s company, after all, everyone in Guang Hong’s village knew we were inseparable, like brothers.

But it was not to last.

It happened one night, by Guang Hong’s pond. We were alone. Everything was perfect. There was no baijiu this time, and I can remember his lips clearly, and how he told me he loved me. He said we would need to leave soon, to my hypothetical empty farm where no one could hurt us. I said that I, too, was keen to move on to another land. After all, I would not be going home without seeing some of the world and China, as nice as it is, was simply not enough. He was happy to go along with that, see a few sights, wander as a pair of free spirits, as long as we were together.

That night would have been perfect, had we not been followed. One of Guang Hong’s sisters had crept out behind us, unknown and silent. She was not at all silent when she saw us kissing, oh no, there was a clear plan she had that was being lain out before us, that even my limited understanding of Mandarin could see. She was going to tell their parents. And Guang Hong would be in so much trouble and I would be sent away. 

She was gone before either of us could stop or bribe her.

Well there was no time to lose. In the frantic scramble to clothe ourselves, I asked Guang Hong one thing: would he escape with me to whatever unknown awaited us, or do we stay to face the consequences here?

It was a stupid question, come to think of it.

There were certain items we could not leave without. The money I had saved, my guitar, important documents and Guang Hong’s few prized possessions. Somehow, I needed to sneak back inside the house and collect them without being found. The Ji family would be out looking for us anyway.

Sick with worry, I had insisted Guang Hong remain hidden outside, but he was having none of it. It would be quicker with us both, and two pairs of ears and eyes would make things safer, so we snuck in the window of our room to pack.

It turned out the rest of the family had not gone to look for us yet.

Our guilty expressions and the fact that we were running away seemed to confirm everything Guang Hong’s sister had said, at least in the eyes of Mr Ji. He was going to kill us. His wife tried to make him see reason, hear our side of the story, but he ignored her. He was going to kill us before anyone outside the family found out about us.

He told me, quite simply and plainly so I would understand, that he was going to take the knife in his hand and bury it in my heart. Or neck. I cannot quite remember, given how distracted I was by my seemingly inevitable death. I was a traitor and we had both committed a crime. He would sooner kill us than have his oldest son go to jail.

All I could think to do was shield Guang Hong and try to reason with his father, and try to remain calm. I was not sure what to say, but begged him to spare his son. It was my fault. I manipulated Guang Hong and lied and tricked and seduced. I deserved to die here and Guang Hong was completely innocent.

It might have worked, had Guang Hong not moved me out of the path of the blade, had it not drawn blood by the time Mr Ji realised what had happened and tried to stop himself. Guang Hong simply dropped, bleeding horribly. I thought he was dying, but he still had the energy to scream, demand his father not touch me. Guang Hong was having none of my heroics, and made sure his entire family knew his feelings.

Any regrets Mr Ji seemed to have were gone then, and he raised his knife again to finish the boy off. 

I do not consider myself to be a man with any real rage inside of me, but at that moment I wanted to hurt Mr Ji like nothing I had experienced before. It was a white hot rage, like someone had struck me with a poker right in my back and pushed me forward to attack. Guang Hong had been ready to die for me, and I would do the same for him. He could be dying, and it was all that bastard's fault.

Please never ask me exactly what happened at that moment, because for the life of me I cannot recall. All I knew was that one second I was tackling him to the ground, and the next there was blood and the knife was in my hand. I might have screamed. I later found out at least some of the blood was from a wound in my own hand, but what I never found out was if I became a murderer that night. I was not stupid enough to stay and find out.

When I came to my senses, the only thing that mattered was Guang Hong. There he was on the floor, red and white and sobbing. I had to get him out of there. Even if he hated me now and never wanted to see me again, I had to find a doctor to treat that wound.

I didn’t dare look at it as we made our retreat, and at that point Guang Hong was either too in shock or too weak from blood loss to speak. I more or less dragged him to the nearest doctor, all the way in the next town, throwing all the money I had and begging him to save Jiji, who by now was almost dead, I had feared. We had walked through the night, hunted and alone, Guang Hong heavy against my shoulder, his father’s knife in my trembling, bloody hand. I did not know how many others I would need to defend myself against before we were safe, or even if we were being followed in the first place.

But he pulled through. In my panic, I had believed the wound to be deeper than it truly was. And boy did I panic.

But my beloved Jiji pulled through. I remember that drained face, still smiling and clutching my hand in the early hours of the morning, that horrid wound across his chest held together with stitches. He thanked me for being brave, and I chided him for being reckless. Then thanked him too. After all, I would likely be dead without him.

I gave him as much time to recover as I could allow before we were on the road again. I did not know if Guang Hong’s family would pursue us, but I wanted out, of the country, if possible. It was time to move on to new and better things, and Guang Hong was anxious about life on the road.

It was rough, and we were both injured, but somehow we made it into Russia after a few weeks of travelling, Turkestan in the south. The route we now had to plan with somewhat tricky, since we needed to avoid the Himalayas to the south and colder weather to the north, not to mention wherever we went there seemed to be more mountains. Samarkand was beautiful though, when we stopped there.

Things were tense amongst the Russians and native population though, so we quickly moved on. There was no work and no reason to stay.

It is late now, and I feel as though our adventures in the desert should wait for another day [plenty of privacy, but lacked water, unsurprisingly], maybe for when I sit outside my farmhouse watching the sunset. What is needed to be said now is that we ended up travelling south in the end, into the Ottoman empire with a plan to travel north through the Balkans into Europe. We were strongly advised against this. There was low-level fighting in parts of Macedonia that we could get caught up in, and the countries that had gained independence recently wanted more land. I am not a politician, so all this was hard to follow. We considered entering Europe by sea, but the Ottoman empire was fighting Italy over places like Tripoli so that would have been dangerous too.

Eventually, we decided to skip most of the Balkans and sail straight to Romania. And from there things seemed a little more simple. Through Austria-Hungary into Italy then France. And at long last: we could make plans to leave for America.

We both got factory jobs to save up for tickets, and picked up some French despite how- after English, Spanish and Mandarin- I was not prepared to learn a fourth language. It was lucky we did though, because without it I would not have known something that would most certainly affect our plans: Chinese were not allowed in the US. Well no one told me, and just how long had I been away exactly? 

An unskilled farmer like Guang Hong would have no chance of being allowed an entry visa or any papers that would let him in the country. I did not quite know the meaning behind this law, but needed to think of something and fast.

It would mean more money that would have to be saved up, but so be it. 1911 rolled into 1912, and bit by bit I collected everything we would need: forged passport and visa, a birth certificate stating that not only was Guang Hong born in California, but was in fact my younger brother: Miguel de la Iglesia. We also needed to save up for a change of clothes, as his current ones would give away his nationality in a second. He also cut his hair for the first time, his braid stored in his luggage with that knife. It was scary, the months leading up to now as he planned and plotted and combed through each detail of our little scheme to make sure it was watertight. He was to smile and say nothing, and if need be speak in Spanish or English, but only if absolutely necessary. And we would have would have to put his looks down to Amerindian heritage, a grandmother of ours, maybe. After everything that had happened, I was not opposed to adding lying [and fraud] to my long list of crimes and sins but Jiji… he was a little apprehensive. Even during our rehearsals, he tended to forget he needed to breathe. 

Well, there was nothing really to do after that but buy our tickets and hope for the best. And it worked. I wrapped him up warm and once we said we were American citizens, not much scrutiny was thrown our way. Here we are, a week away from being back in the good old land of liberty [unless one happened to be from China, it seemed] and that bit closer to seeing my family again. I hope they are not still angry. I did write. They know I will be back painfully soon, and of my adventures which I will write about eventually. They never wrote back, but I suppose my lack of permanent address was a problem in that regards.

It would have been nice to have a cabin to ourselves, alone in a luxurious little sanctuary for the duration of voyage, but to the rest of the world we are two single men, and as such will be berthed with other single men.

Yuuri and Phichit seem pleasant enough though, friendly with what appear to be good hearts. We get along well, and once again I am glad we gave in and learnt some French, so we can actually communicate with each other. Guang Hong and I decided it was probably best to introduce him by his true name and nationality in this situation, as a brief inspection was one thing, but sharing a cabin whilst in disguise would be a bit trickier. We would slip up inevitably. Plus, we tend to get caught at the worst of times, and the only way that hypothetical situation could be made worse was if people thought we were brothers too. But Phichit and Yuuri will keep Guang Hong's secret.

I have written a total of seventeen love songs inspired by Guang Hong, one for every year he has made the world a better, brighter place. What does this say about me? About us?

I am ready to drop now, so I must draw this account to a close. I hope for the best in our future, and that we can both achieve our dreams this coming year. After everything we have been through, I can almost taste that peaceful life awaiting us.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I went with Leopoldo for Leo’s full name rather than the obvious Leonardo because I’ll be damned if I let any references to /that/ film slip in here [or any film about the Titanic come to mention it, so no rapping Makkachin either]. So yeah I’d appreciate no comments that reference any Titanic films [particularly the James Cameron one], though if you want to know about what a rapping dog would be doing in a Titanic film, I am more than happy to make sure you suffer though that monstrosity too. Do it. You’ll lose all faith in humanity.
> 
> Ahem, anyway, Happy New Year and I hope you liked this chapter. I’ll try to be more regular with my updates from now on. And no, Guang Hong hasn't told Leo he keeps using a term meaning 'penis' as a pet name. He probably thinks it's the funniest shit.


	5. Yuri: Celtic Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how to write Yurio. But here he is. Fuck it I’ll wing this shit. This is so short after last chapter and for that I apologise. These are supposed to be different characters writing each chapter though.

 

I hate my life. Yakov says I must not hate because it is a powerful, strong emotion. Well, I strongly hate everything and will use the word to make it known. I hate this ship, I hate leaving Russia and grandpa and I hate sharing a cabin with Yakov and Mila. I hate how Viktor and Georgi think they can just waltz back into our lives and change everything because they want to and think it is for the best. No. Being with grandpa would be for the best; who cares if he is ill and has to work at the factory and lives all the way in Moscow? He is the only family I have. I was supposed to move there and live with him when I became an adult. I am an adult now, even. I could care for grandpa myself.

But no, we have to do what Viktor says. And Georgi, I suppose. I do not know which of those idiots had the bright idea in the first place. They are both as bad as each other at times and yes I missed them when they left, but the place was a lot quieter with them gone. Lonelier, too, but they must never know.

I hope grandpa is doing well without me at least in the same country. I sent him some French money I found in Viktor’s wallet before we left but I do not know if it will be of any use to him. Knowing him, he will be more excited about the letters themselves so it does not matter so much.

But now I am on a damn boat for a week and cannot write to him at all. Well, I can write, but not post it. Maybe I could send him my diary entries for this week. Let me not put anything too embarrassing in here then. Or I could copy my entries onto writing paper, save cutting the pages out, and send… finalised versions to him.

Why am I writing all this down?

It is very boring here. I do not care how nice everything is, and the electricity in our room, I am still bored. There is only so many times you can turn the lights on and off before that, too, gets boring. And annoys Yakov. There is a library too, which I suppose I can hide in when things get too annoying. Yakov just plays cards with other old people.

At least I have a top bunk. I have never had one of those before, and it is so warm. And soft. I wish grandpa was here too, and could sleep in a bed like this. And eat the food they served at dinner- I must tell him about it.

His cooking is better though; I can remember it clearly. The stuff here is good, but it is not… wholesome. I think that would be the word. Grandpa’s cooking has heart. He puts love into it that no boring cold meats and cheese can compare with. I quite like the rice though.

I hope grandpa is not too cold back at home. And I hope his back is not troubling him either.

I have to become rich and famous now. I mean, it was already on my to-do list but now I need to save up to bring grandpa to New York with me. Viktor and Georgi think they are the finest skaters in Russia, well they have seen nothing yet. I will be the best. I have practiced for years now, on the pond by the house that freezes over in winter. Mila too. She says I have incredible talent, and Yakov agrees, in his own silent, grumpy way. Well Mila is not so bad either, so maybe we can make our own troupe. World famous brother and sister, even though we are not really. Close enough though. We will become so famous the world will soon forget about my ‘brothers’ and the Swiss.

And then I will demand Viktor moves to a whole new country because I felt like going. See how he likes it.

I do not know if Mila wants to join me in my plan, but she is impressed at how determined I am to succeed. I can do it with or without her. It would be nice to have a friend though, and someone to voice my complaints at.

Those two are visiting soon, and Yakov has told me to be on my best behaviour. I fail to see how I would not be. I have had all night to let go of my anger, and a session writing my feelings down in a journal. Maybe if Mila stopped trying to see what I was writing, I would be in a better mood though.

Mila, do you want to be famous or do you want me to never talk to you again?

This trip is going to be awful.

 

...

 

Minami’s notes:

 

Yuri Plisetsky and Mila Babicheva were raised in the same orphanage as Viktor Nikiforov and Georgi Popovich, all raised by Yakov Feltsman. It is unknown what other children lived in said orphanage, as all of Feltsman’s documents were either discarded in St Petersburg or went down with the ship, and are completely lost to time.

 


	6. Viktor: Atlantic Ocean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness. I was busy with other fic and art projects, plus a new job as a commission artist which you can find out about here because drawing my damn relatives for money is getting pretty fucking old: https://artistsnclients.com/people/CorkonianCowboy
> 
> Please ignore the ‘cowboy’ part of my username though, I’m genuinely reliable.
> 
> Anyway, I’ll try to keep this updated, as I’m pretty excited to see how people react to the ending and all the fucked up shit that happens to everyone. Sorry this chapter is stupidly short. Sometimes they will be.

 

Day two: still no Yuuri. 

He did not make it aboard and I will have to accept that, as hard as it will be to live and exist an entire ocean away from him. Maybe he needed more time. Maybe he will make the journey one day and we will be together again, or maybe he will want nothing to do with me now after I left so suddenly and demanded he follow. Dear Christophe has been consoling me all day and I fear it is straining him, though he would never complain about helping a friend, even if he needed to, and I adore him for that, even if I needed to allow him a break to eat and rest. He did not raise any concerns about our move when I explained it would be good for Georgi, even though I suspect he has left an incredible life and secret behind. Chris is such a good friend to me.

I do not think he quite understands why I am so upset though, and thinks I am wracked with betrayal, not love. He says he does but… who am I to judge? Maybe he does, maybe he does not. Maybe it has something to do with his secret letter.

To take my mind off of everything, I woke up early to go for a swim, and after that got a tad tedious I hunted down Georgi to go and check on Yakov and our de facto siblings. In a way, I mourn never getting another chance to see the others who spent time at our old orphanage, but Mila and Yuri were always my favourites anyway. Or at least, that was what I told them. I loved all my makeshift siblings and hope for the best, wherever they have found themselves.

Yakov, naturally, had a lot to say when we arrived. We booked a cabin near the front- bow?- of the ship, which upsets Yuri’s seasickness, and on G deck right near the bottom of the ship, which was making Mila feel claustrophobic. And they served sludge that was supposed to be called food. How could I have forgotten this could possibly be the worst position in a ship when making the bookings? The fact that Georgi and I have paid for their travel is not enough, apparently, but complaining is Yakov's favourite hobby. So I let him get on with it. He knows I hardly listen anyway.

He was happy to see us though, and always will be despite what he says. He has warm hugs and kisses for us, and will always call me Vitya like a real father. I wonder if there is anything to do to make him truly hate me, or at least so angry he will refer to me as 'Viktor'. I do not want to find out. There is probably nothing I have not tried at some point though, right up to homosexuality. All I seem to do is make him worry, so I should probably stop testing him so. All this stress must be bad for his health.

Little Yuri had more complaints to inform me of, ones even Yakov could not care to remember. He was cold; I promised to bring them blankets before nightfall. He misses his grandfather and resents my decision to uproot him; I have decided to track Nikolai Plisetsky down when I can and bring him to America. He does not like being cramped in one room with Mila and Yakov; I told him to go to the library or play on deck.

I am not a miracle worker, neither am I willing to share a cabin with him instead.

And now I am back in my- solitary- cabin, having tried reading to calm myself. I am not hungry, so do not feel like seeing anyone for dinner, but it is too early to sleep, had I even felt like it. I am writing purely because there is nothing to do, and I feel I must keep my diary, and heartache,  up to date. Why not? The only other plan I have for today is pained weeping.

I want to write to Yuuri. I would have done so today but I fear it is too soon. Plus, the reading and writing room tends to be busy, and I would have to write in our mutual language- French- which can be read easily. If only Russian was an option here… 

I suspect he would want time to think, and I do not want to come across as desperate. I will write once I get to New York then. Until then, I fear he will invade my every thought, whether I am awake or not, and I do not know if that is a comfort or a curse.

Oh bother. The blankets. I could probably take them down to Yakov instead of moping about.


	7. Yuuri: Atlantic Ocean

Did you know that, because I have a steerage ticket, most of the ship is off-limits to me? I did not know when I purchased the godforsaken thing, but I suppose this would be obvious to anyone but me. That is my life, more or less. One step behind, out of the loop, constantly making mistake after mistake, then just wallowing in self pity instead of trying to fix anything.

But how can I fix this? How can I hope to find Viktor now? He probably hates me, and when we get to New York and finally reunite he- no. That is not Viktor. I may be a fool, but I am not foolishly ignorant.  
  
Though, unless he finds me, I will end up having to wait a whole week to speak with him again. This might be tricky. I do not even have confirmation that he is on board yet and torture myself with the prospect that he is not, that I have made a terrible mistake and he is still in Paris, knowing it is too late to stop me from leaving without him, and no way of explaining why he stayed until I was already in New York searching for him. And so I will have sent both mine and Phichit’s lives into disarray for nothing. I suppose we should have tried to make time for each other during the previous month, at least to discuss this significant event in our lives and actually plan it together properly. Viktor Nikiforov and planning tend to not appear in the same sentence though.  
  
I will just have to hope he runs into me at some point. But Viktor does not even know what class I am in because why would he assume a professional athlete travels in steerage? He is probably wandering from room to elegant room above my head searching for me, thinking I have abandoned him in such a cruel manner.  
  
I have to think of something else to write about before tears ruin the ink in these pages.  
  
Despite his initial inhibitions, Phichit seems to be having fun. Even though it is terribly cold, he spends a lot of time on deck- talking, socializing, already making friends and I admire him for that. Sometimes I see him playing with children, and other times he stares out to sea, coat and scarf flapping in the wind and eyes sparkling. I know he is excited, and sometimes I cannot help feeling excited with him. Whatever happens, at least I will have Phichit when we stumble into our new world- that is one small saving grace.  
  
When the cold weather drives Phichit inside, he spends his time in the general room with either our new cabin mates or myself. Sometimes he goes alone if I am not up to seeing people. A lot of people like him and he finds it easy to make new friends, even as a foreigner- he is the one Siamese person here- with little understanding of French and none of English.  
  
He has also taken to photographing anyone he can with his little portable Brownie camera. The portable camera the size of his skull. He bought it in a little Kodak print shop some years back, and when he is not skating he is tending to his little machine, cleaning it and taking it out to look for more people and scenery to photograph. He has already gone through one roll of film since buying it and is well into his second because of this trip. He does not know most of the people he photographs, but that does not seem to be a problem in the slightest for him. I suppose this may be the only chance for a lot of these people to have their picture taken, given that the majority are poor immigrants with little to their name, and dare I say a few may even be seeking asylum from horrors in their home country.

It seems children are the most eager to have their photograph taken, which is understandable. In fact, I feel Phichit is inspiring many to save up for their own little cameras.

If I talk to anyone I am not rooming with, it almost certainly will be the Nishigori family. Not only is there so much I need to catch up on, but it has been a while since I have been able to have a real conversation in Japanese. Phichit is good at looking after the girls whilst we converse.

The business went under and they had to sell their ice rink, so they were telling me. A crying shame; that ice rink had been in Yuuko’s family for generations now. They, however, used the money to travel here and hope to work their way back up in America, at least with the hope that the girls can run a similar business again one day, even if Yuuko and Takeshi might not again. I hope I can help them out in any way possible in that endeavour. What a present would that be, huh? Their own brand new ice rink.  
  
I will have to get better at skating then.  
  
Our new cabin-mates are an interesting pair. Travellers, so they were telling us, practically nomads and just looking for somewhere to settle down. Ji Guang Hong and Leo de la Iglesia have more stories than our week together will allow, from nearly dying in the Karakum and Kyzylkum deserts, to fighting a bear in the Carpathian mountains to playing for a passing Austrian nobleman.

The bear one might have been a tall tale however, though it would explain Guang Hong’s scar, I suppose. It’s a shiny pink mess across his chest, jagged and ugly and something I suspect could only come from a bear claw. He seems unwilling to talk about it though, the time I did bring up the subject, and it had been Leo who explained the story of the bear.  
  
I know not to pry further.  
  
They are both good friends of mine now, or will be. We have all spent one night together and already Phichit has taken Guang Hong under his wing, in a way, and is making plans for when we arrive in New York. Leo has explained that they will be moving west as soon as possible, but hopes to write and keep in touch.

Maybe we will see them again. When we tour America.  
  
...  
  
_Minami's notes:_  
  
_The camera Phichit bought cost the equivalent of one dollar in French Francs, and surviving photographs have been included and captioned in the centre and back of the book._  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I suppose I will have to draw Phichit's photographs out at some point. And yes this is the kind of pace I'm hoping to keep up. Work must come first though, but after that it is fics. I also want to add Emil/Sara as a side pairing in this, because it's my fic and I like the pairing and have a storyline for them, but I'm also worried about the backlash I might receive because of it. I don't know.


	8. Phichit: Atlantic ocean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh, a new character's POV. I love Phichit so much tbh.

I appear to have met the most beautiful, incredible man in existence.   
  
It is Friday now, and I have not seen him before anywhere- oh I would remember a face like that- and I suspect he has not left his cabin before. I wonder why. I know this is selfish and completely idiotic, but I resent how he has denied me the pleasure of his presence before. How dare he.  
  
I was in the general room again, looking after the little Nishigori girls, quite the challenge given there are three of them and they constantly move from place to place. Not to mention the room is rather dingy at times, and loud with people playing music and men crowded around tables to play cards. And other people's children running around.  
  
In fact, when I first saw him- sitting on a bench in the corner and glaring at a wall-, I was so distracted little Lutz ran off and hid under another one of the benches in the span of two seconds, and it took five minutes of full panic to find her again. Why do these children insist on running off all the time? Why make my life so difficult? Mr and Mrs Nishigori seem stressed enough looking after them, and there is two of them to care for them. I suppose even two pairs of eyes and keep track of three little girls.  
  
I asked them, and Yuuri, to look after the girls whilst I made time to talk to this stranger. He seemed lonely, after all, and that is something I cannot allow so easily. Alone? Not on my watch. Especially not someone so mesmerising.   
  
His eyebrows were like the inky ocean at night, the eyes themselves cold and spearing me as he watched me approach. I suppose it was a silent message for me to stay away, that he was not interested in conversation or friendship, but I just wanted to get to know him, and hear him speak even if it was simply to tell me to leave him alone. I needed to be near him in ways I did not- and do not- understand. He was so mysterious, sitting by himself like that  
  
I sat next to him, said hello in the best French I could muster, and hoped he could understand me. I did not know where he was from, but something suggested me may be Japanese- he bore some slight resemblance to Yuuri, in my defense.   
  
This beauty broke my heart by pretending I did not exist.   
  
I tried again, introducing myself and asking if he could speak French at all. I even tried in Siamese- in the hopes that by some slim chance he could understand me.  
  
He told me, in plain French, to leave him alone and to go away.  
  
I should have. I should have respected his wishes and respected the fact that he was completely antisocial and probably hated me, judging by the glare. But I was fixated. I thought maybe I could get through to him, if I pushed hard enough and started up a conversation. People talked to me when I made no effort, so with a little I would surely win him over.  
  
I started by introducing myself, nice and simple. If I smiled, I would warm this man’s heart.  
  
He stated what I assumed to be his name: Seung Gil Lee. That was a start, at least.  
  
I asked him to come with me. He told me to go away. I added a please. He said there was nothing that would make him follow me.  
  
It was a long shot, but by then I was desperate, thus decided to make my true intentions known. People usually caved then. I pulled out my Brownie and explained I wanted to take his picture, that I wanted a record of everyone I met on this ship, including him.  
  
He tried to keep looking disinterested, to his credit. It lasted all of a minute as he eyed my little black box, I twiddling on the film advance and opening the shutters to be ready for whenever he gave in, which would happen soon. I mentioned it would take only a few moments.   
  
After what must have been an intense, mental debate, he gave a tiny, tiny nod and my eye was in the viewfinder before he could change his mind.  
  
I know that, to get the best pictures, a camera must be placed on a flat surface, but my steady hand normally kept still enough to get a good shot, and why would now be any different? Looking at Mr Seung Gil though, my hands trembled with feelings I could not name for the life of me, and I struggled to keep the thing still.  
  
I doubt the picture I took will come out satisfactory, but maybe that would be for the best. I will just have to meet with him and take another picture sometime. Oh no, how terrible.  
  
I thanked him for his time, and it was then that Mr Seung Gil seemed to warm up, and start talking to me properly, about where I was from and why I was travelling. He even gave the smallest smiles.  
  
But his French and mine were both… substandard. We could not move past introductions and pleasantries, and I did not even recognise where he said he was from, so the conversation soon dried up, more to my discomfort than his. Mr Seung Gil did not really seem to mind sitting in silence, but it would not do for me, so I elected to find Yuuri, and failing that, one of the Nishigoris.   
  
When I beckoned for him to follow, he seemed reluctant, naturally. But this stranger let me lead him to my friends, not saying a word as I pulled Yuuri to one side; however, he gave a scowl when I introduced him to my best friend, unfortunately.   
  
I have trouble liking people who dislike Yuuri.  
  
I asked Yuuri if he could translate for me, that I would like to have a conversation with Mr Seung Gil here but my French and Japanese were both lacking and need his time for just a few minutes.  
  
Unfortunately, the conversation never happened; in fact, I doubt there was even time for Yuuri to think of a reply before Mr Seung Gil had stormed out of the general room, not looking back, though I may have heard a sob.   
  
It was Yuuri that explained he was actually Korean- the name gave it away, apparently- and not Japanese, and that by mistaking his ethnicity in such a way I had likely offended him, and quite deeply too. He apologised for my bad luck, and wished me well if I were to see this man again. He also hoped Mr Seung Gil would understand if I explained I was simply ignorant and apologised.  
  
It upsets me that I upset him though, more so than I would imagine. I never like to be rude, or disrespectful, but something about Mr Seung Gil… I cannot think of anything else right now, and my hands shake so much I can barely write. Something draws me to him, those eyes, that face: thick eyebrows and thin lips, and his inky hair. My heart stops, then beats like I ran the length of the ship. I fear I will be sick. I do not understand it, so I will just tell my little notebook, as opposed to the three others in the cabin with me, because something tells me these are not positive feelings and I might appear mad, or worse.  
  
Maybe, because of that, I should try my best not to see Mr Seung Gil again, but I need to try and understand my fascination better, and apologise. Maybe when I see him next my feelings will become clear.  
  
It is painful to have a secret; oh how will I last?  
  
  
…  
  
 _Minami’s notes:_  
  
 _The ‘Mr’ title is a translation of ‘Khun’, as written in Mr Phichit's notes. Very little of his notes were neat enough to be translated correctly, and others appeared to have been partially destroyed, both by time and deliberate self-censorship._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently Thailand introduced surnames... the year after this is set. So I gotta make sure I accidentally don't use 'Chulanont' at any time.


	9. Viktor and Yuuri- Atlantic Ocean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay sod the story for one moment, and check out this fanart my friend Surya did it's pure lit: http://peteradnan.tumblr.com/post/156975928025/victuuri-week-day-2-traveling-competition thank you please carry on. Sorry for the gap between updates though.

I finally found him. He is on the ship after all and we have reunited at last. I could cry. I actually did earlier, on my way back here in front of several families. Utterly horrifying, but I will try not to dwell on that.  
  
We are honestly the biggest pair of idiots on the planet. Is stupidity infectious? No, I doubt it. Besides, we are both our own brand of fool, as we keep proving time after time. Foolishly in love...   
  
It was Viktor who saw me first. I was out on the poop deck with everyone, enjoying some sun and supervising a game of football- Takeshi and Guang Hong versus Leo and Phichit- whilst I helped Yuuko with the triplets. Axel kept climbing into the lifeboats and Loop had even hidden herself under a lady’s skirt- leading to much apologising on mine and Yuuko’s part, and much amusement on Takeshi's. At least Lutz just stuck to running away in whatever direction she fancied. They also seem to turn up at the worst moments too, when I am trying to confide in Yuuko about my various worries for the future and whether or not I had made a mistake. She always was a good listener, even when we were children.  
  
I have opted to leave my diary in my room for the rest of the voyage, deep at the bottom of my luggage where no prying hands can reach it. The plan had been to keep it on me at all times, to make sure no one else was reading it, by some impossible chance. But by carrying it, all I seemed to have done was flash it before the few people on this ship who could actually read its contents. Loop has already attempted to swipe it once. At least the only three people to have the same room key cannot speak Japanese. Well, Phichit knows a handful of words and none of them are in relation to how perfectly imperfect Viktor is.  
  
I cannot have anyone knowing what I have written, and am about to write. If I ever get round to writing it, instead of complaining about Yuuko's prying children.  
  
As I started to write, it was Viktor who spotted me first. Or should that be, Makkachin. I heard a bark and there they were, over on the promenade deck, that great hefty poodle with his paws against the railings like he was trying to reach me. I have never been so overjoyed to see that big fluffbag.  
  
When our eyes finally met, Viktor gave a mighty wave, and even from where I was standing, I could see that dazzling grin and how his eyes seemed to light up. He really got like that when he saw me… I do not understand either. But if he is happy to see me, things will be alright for a while.  
  
Exchanging room and deck details was quick and hurried- I suppose there will be time for flowery words and emotional reunions when he gets here- and we both went inside to reunite in my cabin. It should be any minute now, and as I wait I write. Nothings. Irrelevancies. What do I even say now? No one is here, thankfully, as I was only on deck in the first place to escape Phichit’s moping about that strange man he upset yesterday.  
  
Any minute now… I do not know what to do.  
  
Should I make myself look pretty? There is nothing i can really do here. I already washed my face in the little basin and tidied my hair back into a style I suppose could be considered neat.  
  
What to do now? What to do now? What t  
  
…  
  
Oh my diary, my heart is filled with such joys and hopes for the future. The gods have given me my Yuuri back, safe and on the ship with me where we can be together at last like I know we are destined to be. We will outlive the fear and hate and world around us, because we and our love are stronger and nothing can come between us, I am certain.  
  
Well, it would be easier if my dear idiot had not booked himself a tiny cabin deep in the underbelly of the ship. It would be easier if I made time to actually double check with him, and help him pay for the trip that was my idea in the first place. But that is all in the past now. What matters is that I know where he is and have a chance of spending time with him.  
  
I had to dress as modest as possible to blend in with the people of steerage class, and even then I feared I stood out. Yuuri did not comment on my appearance though, only on bundling me into his room to hold me close. We fell to the floor, arms and legs entangled, my hair on his nose and his glasses digging into my face as we laughed. How do I describe what I felt then? It was like our souls comforted each other with their mere presence, we were lost and then found. Complete. It sounds silly, I know, but it is the truth for me.  
  
I wonder if Yuuri felt the same.   
  
I smothered him in kisses until he pulled away, fearing one of his companions would come through the door at any given moment to catch us, which I agree would ruin things considerably. Maybe permanently. But even so, after that I still managed to sneak in a few. I cannot help myself at times, and all those times involve Yuuri. Lovely Yuuri.  
  
When we had had our fill of touching and embraces- for the moment- he suggested we go outside to talk on deck. The weather was calm and he was feeling nervous stuck inside such a tiny little room, so out we went to find a little secluded sport on the starboard side. It was late afternoon, and before us, off in the distance and almost out of our view, the sun was setting beyond the front of the ship. People slowly made their way back inside as the world around us got colder and darker, but we carried on talking. About everything. Our worlds had been toppled in a month.  
  
I hear his friend Phichit is on board too, which is nice to know. He is a good man, and it is a relief to know Yuuri has not had to do this alone, because I do worry for him sometimes. Yuuri is strong, but it is nice to know he always has people around him for when he needs them. Phichit knows what to do when he is upset, far better than I do, I must admit.  
  
His other cabin mates sound pleasant, and I am glad to hear some old friends are aboard too. At least he has many loved ones around him and will not be too lonely. I will try to sneak him into my cabin at some point. Not for the entire trip, mind you, just a night at the most. It would probably be hours. But even so, I would make everything perfect for him, down to the view outside my window- I will have to keep track of the weather then. And order some wine. I doubt I could order food to be delivered without one of the stewards seeing Yuuri though. I doubt I have enough money to buy their silence.  
  
I made sure he knew of my plans, to have something to look forward to on this trip. I do not know what the poor do for fun, given how much is off-limits to them. I mean, there is a dog show on Thursday that my little Makkachin will be performing in, but I doubt he will be allowed up to spectate.   
  
Oh why must we spend this week so far apart? Still, at least we will have a long future together when this is all over, and I will make damned sure we never have to be apart again. Even if we have to go it alone, we will be together.   
  
When it was finally time to say our goodbyes- when we were certain we would be missed-, it was with great reluctance that I let him walk back inside for dinner.   
  
I missed him the moment he disappeared. He looked so beautiful as he left though.  
  
Dinner will be a rather lonely affair for me, I suppose. Though it would be better if myself and Christophe do not get seated with that obnoxious Canadian couple again. Georgi finds them sweet, even if their stories of their honeymoon across Europe are somewhat envy-inducing for him. Am I jealous of their love? I doubt it. Something about them just makes me want to stay away.  
  
Mr Leroy keeps talking about how he will inherit his fathers’ company one day and be part of the New York social elite. Somehow, I do not see that happening. They did have an interesting story or two to tell, between the bragging, about a fortune teller who said they will be married happily for the rest of their lives- just what every honeymooning couple wants to hear when they have paid for a reading, I am sure-, and their cruise around the Mediterranean, and how the residents of Paris often turned their noses up at their dialect of French.  
  
I feel it may be practice for when they deal with the residents of New York.  
  
I will visit Yuuri tomorrow, bright and early so we can spend the day together, somehow and somewhere. We need to make the most of this holiday, as difficult as it may be, because the moment we reach America’s shores it is back to work once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember reading a book set on the Titanic where an American girl describes a couple as being unfashionable [as in not good enough for the New York social elite] purely because they were Canadian. I think about it sometimes, mostly whilst also thinking of JJBella. Still, at last our main couple have met.


	10. Yuri: Atlantic Ocean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SORRY THIS IS LATE. I’ve just had a lot of projects to work on lately bear with me please. I’m just a disaster of a human being trying to do his best.  
> But anyway here's some nice OtaYuri for the soul.

 

Well, my diary, today I made a friend. 

And Georgi said such a thing would never happen until I learnt some manners; well to that I say rubbish! Otabek is swell, really grown up and interesting. He thinks of me as a grown up man too, unlike my so-called siblings who act like I am the baby of the family. In a way, I am, but that is no excuse to treat me like I have not grown since I was five. Yakov treats me like an adult, but that comes with more responsibilities than rights. Viktor always goes on about how he will always have faith that I will do my best, make the right decisions and become a lovely young man. He thinks that makes me feel mature, but it is like getting a lecture off a parent and in no way the same thing!

Otabek is different. He sees me as a friend, an equal.

And we have only known each other for an afternoon.

It seems almost too perfect, like someone specially created him with the sole purpose of being my best friend in mind. We think so alike it is incredible, and he is so strong too, stronger than I even dream I could be, with a masculine edge that is so beautiful- maybe even, he is invincible.

He looked invincible when he lifted the edge of the lifeboat I was trapped under to save me- maybe even saving my life. Or at least a limb. 

I was trying to hide from some young girls, about my age. I did not know what they were saying but they had taken some alarming- and rather chilling- liking to me and kept following me around. Since yesterday. I was starting to think I would never get away from them when I had the great idea to hide behind one of the lifeboats. Perfect. Oh Yuri you are so clever, as I said to myself.

Well, it worked, somewhat.

Yes, I lost them; they got bored and left me alone. I waited, just to be certain they were gone, then tried to climb out. Unfortunately, that was harder than I had anticipated. Because I was stuck. I had wriggled so deep my ankle was stuck under the lifeboat and no matter what I did, I couldn't unstick it.

Swell job, Plisetsky. There I was, half behind the lifeboat, half poking out from it yowling like a scared kitten. Two options seemed to present themselves before me: either no one would find me, or those strange girls would. It did not matter because I was damned.

But instead, I found myself a hero.

There he was before me, in a thick coat that billowed in the wind; dark, piercing eyes that glared down at me; a strong jaw that could slice through flesh. If I had to draw myself a hero of my own, nothing would come close to this magnificent man before me. I can still see him in my mind, with those thick eyebrows and the thin lips pulled into a line. Dark hair, neat under a hat. 

He is so strong too: as I said, after politely introducing himself as Otabek Altin, he lifted up the lifeboat like it was nothing, long enough for me to wriggle out. He freed me. He heard my cries and saved me, for no reason other than kindness.

I would not leave his side after that. I wanted to know more about him, this mysterious but incredible human being- for once in my life interested in another person’s life. Well, there is Grandpa too, of course... So, I asked and he told.

Otabek hails from the Russian Empire too: a Kazakh from Almaty. He has a large family, so he was saying, with four younger sisters, grandparents, uncles and aunties. Honestly, I cannot imagine being around so many people, so it was fun to hear him talk about his sisters’ antics, and how he would take care of them all.  

This was also how he was taking care of them, he explained. He was travelling alone in order to settle down in America, get a well-paying job and save up to bring his family over. All of them. It did not matter what or how long it would take, Otabek was going to be with them all again. 

I told him about Grandpa. His eyes seemed to light up at how alike we were, and we wished each other the best in our endeavours. Endeavours… Beshka uses a lot of smart words like that. I, on the other hand, just focused on trying not to sound uncouth in front of him.

Beshka...

He is so intelligent, and brave and strong- and I really wish the best for him in the future.

Maybe we could live in big houses side by side in New York. One house for him and his big family, and one for me and Grandpa. Well, I suppose I can make room in a corner somewhere for Yakov to sit and grow old. And Mila can have a room too.

And of course, guest rooms for Georgi and Viktor when they visit and get on my nerves. I would like a guest room for Beshka too. 

Maybe we could have a tunnel between the two houses. Yes, it would be easier to use each other’s front doors, but a tunnel would be fun too. Immature, I know, so I have opted not to mention it to Beshka.

Oh, diary, I have almost forgotten another particular detail about Mr Otabek Altin: he owns a motorbike. Supposedly. But he says he will take me down to the hull where his hildebrand and wolfmuller is stored and show it to me sometime, and let me ride it when we get to New York. I can imagine it now, the wind in my hair, arms around Beshka’s waist as we tear down the streets of Manhattan. Oh, a right pair of hooligans we will look!

 

… 

 

_Minami’s notes:_

 

_I was never able to confirm if Mr Altin ever owned a hildebrand and wolfmuller; if it exists, it now lies at the bottom of the Atlan_ tic.


	11. Seung Gil: Atlantic Ocean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh lookie, a nice fast update to make up for the delay... it's short though, naturally. Seung Gil turned out surprisingly straightforward to write, given how generally unreadable he is.

There is a certain mister on this ship who goes by the name Phichit. He is 165 centimetres tall, at a guess, and Siamese, so he was saying. His French is abysmal, as is his diplomacy and knowledge of current events, and he talks so much yet has so little to say. He is, without a doubt, the most irritating individual I have ever had the misfortune to meet, but despite how unbelievably clingy he is, and how it should be impossible for one person to be so cheery, the man does seem rather endearing. Sweet, even. Like a puppy. Like my little Pado, even. I do not understand why he is so taken with me, and the man has refused to leave me in peace since he saw me.

Park Min So gave me this notebook when I left Korea to document my travels, but I never felt the need. I remember what happened, so why write it down? 

Phichit will be the exception to this. 

I have analysed and studied how I feel and react around him, and my mind is a mess. I really do not appreciate such clutter, so I will write my findings here, sort through these thoughts and then forget about it all. Maybe I will even destroy this notebook.

Phichit… Phichit… why do I interest him? And why does he interest me? He is warm, I suppose, a pleasant change on this cold ship. Cold air, thin blankets, no Pado to sleep in my bed with me. Sunny Phichit, kind Phichit, the only person to go out of his way to talk to me Phichit. Not that I would like to be crowded by people, but Phichit is my exception. I need his warmth, after all.

Even as I write, it is starting to become more clear to me. Tugging heart, shortness of breath, sweats as I toss and turn at night- I am either infatuated or dying, and to tell the truth I cannot work out which would be worse. At least if I was dying, I would care a little less over my dangerous infatuation.

Min So was the one who rescued me last time such a thing happened- protecting me and smuggling me out of the country on the condition that I would never pull such a stunt again, that I would keep my head down and keep safe. I did intend to make good on my promise, and thankfully I will probably not have to see him again when we reach our destination so all that leaves is this one week to bear Phichit’s infectious influence. I will make the most of his cosy, radiant form until then though, to get me through this journey.

Min So would be so displeased to hear that, and I hate to admit that she would be right. I have already been forced to flee my country because of this perversion- not that it has ever felt like such, but the rest of the world has always had a habit of doing the opposite of what I want it to. I should have learnt my lesson by now, having given up everything once, and the logical thing to do would be to cut all ties with the man. That is the conclusion I hate reached, the one I should stick to, but for the life of me I cannot.

He saw me again today. In all honesty, I had been desperate to avoid him. I promise you, Min So, I tried to avoid him. Sure, he had a camera and his words were fascinating beyond belief, and I need him so desperately, but I cannot allow myself to be close to another man. I must not be so stupid again. He did not seem to understand how suspicious he looked, with his warm eyes and words of affection. 

I know I ought to avoid him. I know I should stay in my cabin and hide but he is impossible to resist. Besides, there are certain necessities that call for me to leave the cabin. Food, for one. Pado, for another. 

We talked again, and he apologised for his words. Not a genuinely malicious person, that is comforting to know. He tells me I fascinate him, but I cannot for the life of me work out why. I think he may be a homosexual though and I wonder if he will work that I am one too. And then what? He seems to care for me though. And I cannot tell for the life of me why that would be so, but I suppose I can shoulder that burden for now. I might have grown to care for him too, or at least tolerate him. He has the sweetest smile and gentle eyes.

Yes, I know I should avoid him for my own good, but I cannot bear to have him leave just yet. Let him stay with me, if just for a short while, do not take him away. He has somehow become a light for me, my sunshine. 

I play a dangerous game, despite how I hate such things, and I hope this will not end up like last time. Where is there to run in international waters?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a spotify playlist for this fic, btw. It's called 'and the devil makes three', naturally but I have no idea how to link it here as I just listen to spoofy on my phone.


	12. Yuuri: Atlantic Ocean part two

Tis a shame I cannot spend every waking moment with Viktor, but that is life, I suppose. 

We are doing the best we can under such trying circumstances though, and even as I write I wait for him, in the corner of the library where we said we would meet- every day, whenever he needed to see me. We will wait here for the other when we can and need. The library itself is far bigger than my cabin and makes me feel safe- not outside, but not too crowded either- and I plan to spend more time here, now that I am not looking for Viktor anymore; he knows this and will always look for me here, so he says. We always wait for each other, and we always find each other, thankfully. 

Vitya says he wants to try sneaking me into his cabin tonight and, knowing him, every other night we happen to be here. I would rather not risk such a thing, but it would be nice to be close to him again, to feel his sleeping body beside me, run my hand through his hair and see those eyes glisten for no one but me. Vitya calls me a lot of things, but when it is just the two of us in amorous congress, when he is mine alone, I am his eros. I want him this way again and even as I write this- just for one moment- I would not care who knew. And now as I write with, I realise how terrible that would be.

We would get caught though. Not only is there no way to let me into first class, but the stewards would be everywhere, watching up and even in the quiet of Viktor’s room, they would come in to do whatever jobs they needed to- oh we cannot risk it. Our careers and lives would be over in one terrible moment. All Vitya has to do is keep his distance for one more week; is that really so tricky to do?

For him? Yes. Vitya loves his affection, giving it freely whenever it is safe to do so. And his idea of safe is far different to mine. 

I fear one day Viktor’s actions will get us both killed, and whilst I should be worrying about such a fate, I sometimes feel I should embrace his fearless affection so when we go I will have no regrets. His touches and how we cannot be apart for long will arouse the suspicion of the wrong person one day. We will break apart just a little too slowly. His gaze will linger a little too long. Someone would find it written down- some cold hard evidence to send us both to prison or worse.

If I have to go, I will make sure it is by Vitya’s side, and I can firmly believe he would say the same. 

Maybe I will spend the night with him after all. 

Things seem to have fallen into a monotonous routine for which I am glad of. The world was a scary place when I did not know where he was, if we would see each other soon or even again, if I had made a terrible mistake and not only inconvenienced myself but forced Phichit, Celestino and Minako to drop everything for one stupidly amazing man.

But our plans are now running smoothly, and I assume the rest of the trip will fall into this simple routine of me reading and writing here, waiting for Vitya. He certainly brings a spark to the day, a nice change from simple, lifeless food; strangers and books I cannot actually read; crowded halls and rooms that feel like they will close in on me and prying eyes. With him I can just talk and listen, as the rest of the world melts away into oblivion.  

I sometimes wonder where I would be without Viktor’s love. At home, I suppose, probably inheriting the family springs and living in peace with my parents and sister. I wonder, if I had never saw him skating that first time, would that part of my life would have remained empty? Would I have filled it with another passion- both in career and love? Who knows?

I do not think I would be so driven though. I think life would have become truly monotonous. 

On the ice with Viktor is where I belong, and I am truly grateful that this is now my reality- and will continue to be wherever we end up. He has asked me to join his troupe, and for the first time since I feel like it might be possible and not some silly fancy of his. 

I hope Christophe and Georgi will not mind… 

 

...

 

_ Minami’s notes: _

 

_ I am reminded here of something Katsuki once said to me, something I took little notice of at the time: if a crime is committed in international waters, is it really illegal? At the time I assumed he was talking about hypothetical murder, not real love.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Homosexuality wasn’t actually illegal in France at the time- so if they’d stayed in Paris they would’ve been fine, in more ways than one.


End file.
